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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27616061">we were always meant to be</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cokuns/pseuds/cokuns'>cokuns</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Explosions, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Poisoning, Respawn Mechanics, Terrible Metaphors, War, lovers but enemies...it's complicated really, milkdromeda collision lol, no beta we die like men, no one actually dies but then again they Do therefore the tag, unhinged wilbur</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:54:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,544</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27616061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cokuns/pseuds/cokuns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilbur hovers by the perimeter of L’Manberg, deliberating if he should enter. Lampposts smoking, houses destroyed, water overflowing: destruction in its raw form.</p><p>  <i>Perfect. This is how it should be, the aftermath of the collision, four and a half billion years from now, when we hurtle towards each other at 402,000 kilometres per hour. The night sky, brighter than it has ever been, the remnants of you and me, in one place. </i></p><p>In a parallel universe, this is what happens between Wilbur and Schlatt during and after the war.</p><p>[中文翻译/Mandarin translation <a href="https://dululuxiansheng.lofter.com/post/1f3901dc_1cae9384e">here</a>, courtesy of shesaidso!]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>196</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>we were always meant to be</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>major spoilers for pogtopia vs manberg war!</p><p>heed my advice and read the tags, please. i'll say it again: major character death (but no worries — respawn mechanics!), slight blood &amp; gore, unhinged wilbur (??), descriptions of poisoning, strong language etc.</p><p>some dialogue is quoted directly from the creators — do support them and watch their streams. and yes, i will use italics terribly and repeat my milkdromeda collision metaphor over and over.</p><p>mandatory "this is not shipping the creators irl, please don't do that, this is about the personas" reminder.</p><p>that being said, do leave kudos/comments. enjoy :,)</p><p>huge thanks to shesaidso (dululuxiansheng on lofter) for kindly translating this into mandarin!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I.</p><p>Wilbur, Tommy and Tubbo are lying on the grass, staring up into the sky. Tonight, the sky is dark enough to see the stars. Wilbur tells them about Milkdromeda.</p><p>
  <em> Our galaxy, the Milky Way, and the Andromeda galaxy, our closest spiral neighbour, will collide four and a half billion years from now. Our sky will be streaked with the birth of thousands of stars. Pretty neat, isn’t it? By that time, our Sun will be on its deathbed. We won’t survive it, obviously. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I wish I could see it happening in front of me. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>II.</p><p>Dream leads them to Schlatt. </p><p>He’s in the Camarvan, slumped against the wall, curls falling into his eyes as he raises his head. Even being on opposite sides of the war doesn’t stop Wilbur’s heart from swelling to thrice its original size with the sheer ferocity of the <em>emotions </em>he feels for the man two feet from him.</p><p>“Wilbur?” Schlatt murmurs, lips curving up into a lazy smile. He frowns when he realises everyone else is cramped in the tiny van. “What’s going on? What is this, a surprise birthday party?” Schlatt nonchalantly asks, taking a swig of vodka. </p><p>“Are you- are you <em> drinking</em>?” Wilbur asks, voice incredulous as he takes a step towards him. “Don’t! This might be a trap - you <em> know </em> Schlatt.” someone says. Wilbur looks at Schlatt: navy suit jacket covered in soot, his shirt all creased and the cuffs fraying, his hair an unruly mess, his eyes bleary and tired.</p><p>“I do,” Wilbur says, peeling his gaze away from Schlatt. His eyes drop to the dusty concrete, and he staggers back as he’s hit in the face with realisation <em>the force of two neutron stars colliding </em>(STOP IT) – oh, <em> no</em>. There are empty syringes and vials of compounds scattered all around. “What is it, what’s wrong?” Tommy asks, raising his bow.</p><p>“No, <em> don’t</em>. Look at him.” Wilbur desperately starts, kneeling down to face Schlatt. He feels everyone instinctively reaching for their sword. “Unarmoured, unarmed. He’s not a threat.” Wilbur’s voice raises in panic as his hands fumble to push Schlatt’s sleeve up, fingers pressing against the feverish pulse on his wrist. Up higher on his elbow: needle pinpricks. "Missed the vein the first time," Schlatt says.</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>, dilated pupils, shallow breathing, his pulse is practically bursting out of his skin, don’t you fucking <em> see</em>? He’s <em> dying</em>.” Wilbur waves his arms around, jabbing it in the direction of the syringes, completely unhinged and manic. </p><p>“Get out, all of you. Leave us alone.” His voice drops, cold and lethal. He turns back to Schlatt, brushing the curls out of his face as he says, “Stay with me, don’t you fucking <em> dare </em> die on me, Schlatt.”</p><p>“But we <em>can’t</em>, this could be a trap, what if you <em>die</em>-” Tommy is cut off as Wilbur turns to him. “Get <em> out</em>.” Wilbur snarls, tone caustic, tightening his grip on Schlatt’s arm. “I’ll call for help if I need it. <em> Please</em>.” Wilbur tries, his gaze darting back and forth between Tommy and Schlatt. </p><p>He can see Tommy’s tongue poking the inside of his cheek before he relents. He lowers his crossbow and stalks out of the van, boots crunching the dirt beneath his feet. The rest file out behind him without a word. Dream catches his eyes before he turns towards the exit, and for a second, sees the same pain and anguish he’s feeling in Dream’s eyes.</p><p>“I‘m sorry.” Dream whispers, regret staining his words. Later, Wilbur will wonder exactly how much Dream knows.</p><p>Wilbur turns back to Schlatt and hauls him – practically dead weight at this point – into his arms, horror seeping into his veins when he realises Schlatt’s eyes are closed. “Schlatt, oh fuck, <em> Schlatt</em>, come back to me, god <em>damn </em>you-” He tries, one hand coming up to cradle Schlatt’s cheeks. “Not dead yet, fucker.” Schlatt cracks open his eyelids, wrenching his arm out of Wilbur’s painfully tight grip. </p><p>“This is fucking <em> painful</em>, dude. This poison is taking way longer than expect-” Schlatt’s words are cut off when a coughing fit seizes him. He turns to his side and coughs up a mouthful of bright crimson blood <em>(like a red giant, STOP-).</em> “Fuck, wonderful. Internal bleeding too, what a way to go.” Schlatt wheezes, a rivulet of blood leaking down his chin to rest nestled in his beard.</p><p>Wilbur wants to scream, to screech, but instead he swallows down the hook lodged in his throat and chokes out, “Stop fucking <em> talking </em>and save your energy. Don’t die, bastard, not now, not <em> here</em>.” The <em>not in my arms, please </em>goes unsaid. Schlatt reaches up, pries the hand away from his cheek and intertwines his fingers with Wilbur’s. </p><p>“It’s too late. You know that.” Schlatt says, voice already weak. </p><p>“Shut the fuck <em> up- </em> No. It’s <em>not</em>. I’ll become president, you know I will – I’ve always been a better president than you anyway, you’ll be a citizen and you’ll have a place in L’Manberg, I promise, everything will be fine,” Wilbur is rambling now, voice tight and strained as his brain works itself overdrive.</p><p>“Nothing’s fine and you <em> know </em> that.” Schlatt breathes, Wilbur staring back at him looking more pained than Schlatt has ever seen. </p><p>“It’s not what we want. It’s what we deserve.” Schlatt says, eyes struggling to focus. </p><p>“Fuck, promise me.” Wilbur is trying to speak through the tears. “Next time, we’ll live together, <em> fuck</em>, we’ll have a nice house, we’ll have a cat and, and- we’ll argue but we’ll sleep in the same bed and everything will be <em> fine</em>, come on, <em> promise </em> me,”</p><p>Schlatt huffs out a breath of laughter, pain wrinkling his features immediately after. “Promise me, damn you, I don’t <em> care</em>.” Wilbur is clinging to one frail glimmer of hope, one straw in the vast ocean. “Always, <em> yes</em>, I promise,” Schlatt says.</p><p>They stay in that position. Until Schlatt inhales once and simply doesn’t exhale.</p><p>
  <em> It was never meant to be. One day it will. </em>
</p><p>Wilbur stands. He picks at the blood (<em>Schlatt’s </em>blood) on his sleeves, already dried. He leaves, the sound of his combat boots on polished wood sharp and almost mocking. </p><p>They all turn in his direction. “He’s dead. We won.” Wilbur says flatly. There’s an immediate celebration, a goddamn <em>cacophony </em>of joyous screams. </p><p>Wilbur hopes no one catches him retching behind the van.</p><p> </p><p>III. </p><p><em> This is why</em>, Wilbur thinks, as he hovers in front of the button, not registering Phil’s pleads. </p><p><em> We were destined for destruction, you and me. There </em>was<em> a special place, past tense. Not anymore, not without you. I’ve always been so oblivious, so ignorant. Wanting to see the collision of galaxies, not knowing that we </em>were <em>the galaxies. We were always gravitationally bound to each other. This is the only way to restore balance. </em></p><p>“There was a saying, Phil, by a traitor once part of L’Manberg. I don’t know if you’ve heard of Eret?”</p><p>“Yeah?” </p><p>“It was never meant to be.” Wilbur laughs, more of a pained sob than anything, as he pushes the button. He slides down the stone wall, one tear falling.</p><p>He listens to the capital – the thing he gave up <em>everything </em>for – being blown to absolute smithereens and looks on as their hiding space explodes into chunks of rock, showering them in dust. </p><p>“<em>My </em> L’Manberg, Phil. <em> My </em> unfinished symphony, <em> forever </em> unfinished.” Wilbur’s voice borders on a shout as he surveys the damage, staring right into the massive crater. “If I can’t have this, <em> no one </em> can.” He’s gone rogue, he knows. Who can he blame?</p><p>Wilbur’s been informed recently by several sources that he doesn’t have a heart – they’re right, he doesn’t (<em>not anymore</em>). It’s been tacked and sewn onto the man lying on the floor of the van merely half an hour prior.</p><p>He turns abruptly. “Kill me. Phil, kill me. <em> Kill me. </em>” Wilbur throws down his sword uncaringly. It scrapes and thunks across the ground. </p><p>“What- you’re my son!” Phil exclaims, even as he bends down to retrieve the sword.</p><p>“Look, <em>look. </em>How much work went into this? It’s gone.” Wilbur yells. There are still explosions going off in the distance. </p><p>Wilbur steadies his gaze. “Do it.” <em>I'm coming back to you.</em></p><p> </p><p>IV.</p><p>Wilbur hovers by the perimeter of L’Manberg, deliberating if he should enter. Lampposts smoking, houses destroyed, water overflowing: destruction in its raw form.</p><p>
  <em> Perfect. This is how it should be, the aftermath of the collision, four and a half billion years from now, when we hurtle towards each other at 402,000 kilometres per hour. The night sky, brighter than it has ever been, the remnants of you and me, in one place.  </em>
</p><p>“You took a <em> damn </em> long time.” There are warm fingers encircling his wrist, curls tickling the base of his neck, a body pressing against Wilbur. “It’s only been half a day.” Wilbur struggles not to smile.</p><p>“I’ve been waiting,” Schlatt says, voice so familiar it hurts, a honeyed ache right in the left ventricle of his heart. He’s wearing a neatly pressed suit, his shirt crisp and smelling of floral detergent. </p><p>Wilbur turns and presses his lips to Schlatt’s, not quite a kiss (they are far beyond love at this point), more of a sharing of oxygen and everything in between.</p><p>“Let’s go home.”</p>
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